


Confiscate the Crown

by Xalrath



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Based On That Other Thing I Wrote, Gen, God Tier, Self Indulgent As Fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xalrath/pseuds/Xalrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swing the ship around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_You’ve gone and fucked this up too, haven’t you._ Eridan had pretended, once upon a time, that the voice wasn’t his own. That it was Gbolygb’s way of keeping him honest, keeping him on the path that would see him seated at the right hand of the Empress-to-be.

But no. It had always been him. It always been the part of him that saw the flaws in his plans, saw that there was no chance the angels would stop hunting him, no way his friends would accept him, no way Fef could possibly ever-

And even as he retread the same old self-pitying territory, a body that had seen its brain through the Land of Wrath and Angels set its sights on another winged creature. _Dualscar and Mindfang, together again. Neither of you were ever much good at flirting- either murder or nothing._  

Her eyes. Those spiteful, self-absorbed little eyes. She of all people should have understood. She made the demon, she should know there was no way to defeat it. Where the King had been a monstrosity, Jack was a god. A god she’d forged because without something better than her to kill she had no idea how to live. She’d never understood service, never understood that there was always a bigger fish, never understood that the only way to be worth anything was to dedicate yourself to a dream even if it wasn’t yours because if you shared a dream maybe one day you could share something more and she deserved it for betraying you in a way she’d never understand, for throwing something away you would have killed for.

 _Of course, then you killed two people for finding happiness without you, so maybe someone’s just looking for something new to shoot because without something to hunt and something to serve you are less than nothing, and you’d rather be despised than worthless._

The voice was wrong, but Eridan wasn’t going to give himself the dignity of an argument when the only thing he had to offer was mockery. All he deserved was to be shown how wrong he was, how wrong he’d always been when he listened to the voice and how wrong he’d always been when he hadn’t. And the white-hot furnace of his rage and despair began to coil around his wand, and her brown-spattered knuckles flexed around their dice, and any moment now-

 **HONK.**

Shooting first and shooting again later had kept him alive in the Land of Wrath and Angels, and when the urge came he did not fight it, even knowing as he turned to face the new arrival that it meant the Flourite Octet were already falling. There was a burst of white, hateful light, and the Bard of Rage died. No hole through the torso, this time- the fear and the desperate hope that this time, THIS TIME he might be doing the right thing was transmuted through the wand into a force that left only a smoking ruin where Gamzee had been.

He tried to turn back to face Vriska, but found he could not turn.

 **  
_Who shall inherit, when the Heir is dead?_   
**

**  
_  
_   
**

__

There was a light in the room. A violet light that had not been there before. And there was a stretching feeling. His clothes felt loose around his body, and then tight. Vriska’s eyes were on fire with confusion and fear.

 **  
_Better the kingdom should fall than one who is not prepared take the throne._   
**

_  
_

He was no longer standing. Had not been for some time. Instead he floated in mid-air, buoyed not by science or magic but by some device of the game that wasn’t over yet. Wasn’t over yet? No. Wasn’t over. Had been played longer than he’d known, had been before and would be again, a slitherbeast consuming itself, a cycle that fed on its own endlessness. The Void cried out for its ending, but no ending came. Doom saw only the endless ways it could fail to be broken.  Mind could read only within the cycle, Light only bend it. But there was a way.

He’d been wrong. Terrors below and Empress above, but he’d been wrong.

When the next words came, he spoke them aloud, in a voice that was not quite his.

 **  
_The Prince’s worthiness shall be known when he strikes down that which brought his brother low._   
**

_  
_

In the dimness of the laboratory, a Seer sniffed at the air, beholding a world whose color was now a strangely synthetic cran-grape, and felt more than saw the timeline twisting into a new path.

A Mage twisted in a pain-filled sleep, as the song of Doom in his head struck a discordant note- that not all that was written was written in truth, and not all that was foretold must be.

A Knight continued his bloody-minded cursing, not permitting himself to think of what this new development might mean until his friend was safe.

A Thief stood in shock and hate, trying to understand how her luck had failed her at this worst possible of times.

A Maid began the timeless journey to the place from which she had come, knowing something had gone wrong, and something had gone right.

And a Sylph awoke, feeling, KNOWING something had changed, and that its source was below her, and that a billion unborn trolls cried out for vengeance.

 **  
_And in so doing, he shall Rise Up._   
**

_  
_

Without looking, he knew a crown now rested atop his head, and that his wings- not Vriska’s flutterbeast ones, instead a pair of long, translucent reptilian frills that undulated in unseen currents- were spread, and to look into them was to know what could still be.

He smiled, an unfamiliar feeling on his face, still looking towards the place where Gamzee lay smoking.

“8h sh8.”

And down comes the Sylph, Space blessed by Light and Blood, and it is child’s play to take her Hope from her and twist out of the way of the avenging blades.

And up comes the Thief, Light blessed by Breath and Mind, surging around her as the dice are hurled to the floor, and it is simply a matter of giving his wings a single mighty flap, and the Flourite Octet scatters to the far corners of the room.

And into the room comes the Maid, Time blessed by Doom and Void, and the path is clear even as everything around them slows to a crawl, Doom’s icy touch held off by the flame that burns within him. “Radia. Wwe still got a shot at this.”

She looks at him, untrusting. Then another of her appears for a split second, and gives her a nod. “We take him back, and we can still win the game.”

Karkat had opened a surprisingly brief memo on the subject of such appearances fairly early into the game, once it became clear that Red Team and Blue Team were on the same side. Evidently it had applied to Aradia as well. She still looked confused, but time began to accelerate back to a normal pace. “When?”

“Here. About fiwe minutes ago. I’ll do it. You just hawe to take me there.”

“Not ten?” And the matriorb bursts again in his mind.

“Has to happen. Only wway it wworks. Only wway she does wwhat she has to do, only wway _she_ does wwhat _she_ has to do, only wway the right ones are there at the right time. If wwe’d risen sooner there wwould have been others, but now this is the only one left.” And he can feel it fading away with each second, as Aradia’s ability to take another person back with her drifts closer and closer to the limits of her power. Hope is not yet dead, but it lies bleeding on the floor the way Fef- no. Not the time.

“We won’t get a second shot at this.” Her voice is serious in a way it never was when he’d known her. As a robot, she’d done nothing but make emotionless statements- now that he can hear her putting force into her statements he finds it somehow more bizzare, that a lowblood feels she can dictate terms to a highblood, rather than a tool simply stating what it knows.

“I wwon’t need one. I knoww wwhat needs doin.”

She nods. They vanish in a shriek of breaking crystal, and through her he feels the timeline break with it, knows their own lives will end heroically here and there will only be the dreams of his tragic life after this and it would be so easy to give it up, but no, not when he can mean her dream still comes true even if she won’t be alive to see it.

 

* * *

 

 _Don't think you've fucked it up yet, but the night's young._ Eridan had pretended, once upon a time, that the voice wasn’t his own. That it was Gbolygb’s way of keeping him honest, keeping him on the path that would see him seated at the right hand of the Empress-to-be.

But no. It had always been Dualscar. It always been the part of him that saw the flaws in his plans, saw that there was no chance the angels would stop hunting him, no way his friends would accept him, no way Fef would pity him as long as he still knew weakness.

And even as he retread the same old self-pitying territory, a body that had seen its brain through the Land of Wrath and Angels set its sights on another winged creature. _Dualscar and Mindfang, together again. Right up there with sapphic pirate erotica in terms of classic literature._  

Her eyes. Those spiteful, self-absorbed little eyes. She wasn’t worthy of her title, had never been the Marquise. Whereas he, he was Dualscar reborn, Dualscar given the chance to set things right, to bring her pathetic mockery of law, of –him- to an end. She’d dared to bring Jack into being as a god, because she feared the confrontation that was the only way her life could end. She’d never understood service, never really understood the game, only played along with it because it meant she could pretend the rules didn’t apply to her. She was a creature of treachery, and now it was all going to catch up with her at the hands of white science.

 _Yours was different. No master for Dualscar save the strongest. And those who cast him aside are to be consigned to the corpse pile for eternity. Even in the face of death- dignity. Pride. Calm, cool perfection. She’s not worthy of even the first drop of your sweat._

For the first time in his life, the voice agrees with him. Coldly and deliberately he stares her down, every inch of her twitching, hateful countenance. Here stood Orphaner Dualscar, death of the Marquise Spinneret Mindfang but for the treachery of the low-blooded, and this time no treachery would save her.

 **HONK.**

And Eridan turns, and his sneer deepens. _Perfect_ , said the voice.

And down comes the Sylph, Space blessed by Light and Blood.

And Hope.


	2. Oh Yeah Also There's This

For the curious, the full text of the memo referred to.

CG: ATTENTION DYSFUNCTIONAL PACK OF WRIGGLERS PARADOX SPACE HAS SADDLED ME WITH IN PLACE OF A FUNCTIONAL TEAM.  
CG: IF ARADIA APPEARS OUT OF NOWHERE  
CG: ROBOT OR OTHERWISE  
CG: AND TELLS YOU TO DO SOMETHING  
CG: YOU FUCKING DO IT.  
CG: BECAUSE I WILL RUN MYSELF INTO THE GROUND FAR ENOUGH THAT THE ONLY EVIDENCE OF MY EXISTENCE WILL BE THE MUFFLED SCREAMS EMANATING FROM ROCKY FISSURES IN THE DARK PLACES OF THE WORLD TRYING TO COME UP WITH A PUNISHMENT WORSE THAN WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO YOU IF YOU DO NOT LISTEN TO HER.  
CG: DO NOT THINK FOR A NOOKWHIFFING MOMENT THAT I WILL NOT, INEVITABLY, COME UP WITH SOMETHING WORSE AND THEN PROCEED TO SUBJECT YOU TO IT, BUT THERE ARE FAR MORE VALUABLE USES OF MY TIME.  
CG: SUCH AS GETTING TO WORK ON PRECISELY THAT FOR THE IDIOT HIPSTER WHOSE GENOCIDE FIXATION HAS REQUIRED ME TO WRITE THIS.  
CG: I’M PROUD OF YOU ASSHOLES. NORMALLY THIS IS THE PART WHERE ONE OF YOU FUCKS UP THE MEMO BEYOND REPAIR WITH SOME SNARKY HORSESHIT. WELL DONE TEAM, THERE IS A DIM POSSIBILITY YOU MAY NOT DRIVE ME TO SOPOR SLIME ABUSE YET.  
CG: AND BEFORE TROLL MURPHY REALIZES I JUST TYPED THAT, WE’RE DONE HERE.  
*carcinoGeneticist [CG] closed memo.*


End file.
